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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503593">Quiver</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlinny/pseuds/gremlinny'>gremlinny</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Grinning Man - Philips &amp; Teitler/Grose &amp; Morris &amp; Philips &amp; Teitler/Grose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Death, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Gen, Hunting, No Dialogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 03:07:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27503593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gremlinny/pseuds/gremlinny</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Grinpayne has never been an exceptional hunter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Quiver</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bow feels foreign in his numb hands as he trudges along in the forest, a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. Anything within a mile radius has probably heard him by now, with the way his feet fall heavily onto dead leaves and underbrush. </p><p>Grinpayne has never been an exceptional hunter. </p><p>He’s not bad at it, because with enough time he’s sure to bring something back eventually, but he’s not an expert marksman by any means. He prefers setting traps and snares, it’s something he doesn’t have to focus so intently on. </p><p>The autumn air is colder than it should be this time of year, and the clouds overhead look like they’ll bring snow with them.</p><p>The wind cuts through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Grinpayne tightens his bandages and keeps walking. </p><p>Ursus usually comes with him on these types of excursions, but Grinpayne had insisted he go alone this time. There’s no good in having company on a hunting trip if you’ll only end up bickering with eachother. </p><p>It’s getting late, and he doesn’t remember how long he’s been out here. Long enough for him to have lost the feeling in his toes. His hands have been numb for a while, and he flexes his fingers in an effort to restore any sensation. </p><p>As much pain as his wounded face causes him, Grinpayne can’t stand the feeling of it growing numb in the cold. It makes him panic for a moment, before he takes off his bandages and brings his hands up around his mouth and nose, breathing deeply in an effort to trap warm air and wake up his nerves. </p><p>He spots the deer before it sees him, and he’s already got the bow back in his hands. </p><p>As he nocks an arrow, the bow creaks as the string is pulled taut, and the deer lifts its head to stare at him. </p><p>Grinpayne wonders if prey can smell blood the same way predators can. </p><p>The arrow goes straight into the eye of the deer, and it’s dead before it hits the ground.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m castledock on tumblr</p></blockquote></div></div>
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